


don't read the last page

by liroa15



Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: M/M, Post-Trade
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-01
Updated: 2018-01-01
Packaged: 2019-02-18 05:58:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,392
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13093875
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/liroa15/pseuds/liroa15
Summary: A story of two years and two trades and maybe a little bit of growing up. Maybe.





	don't read the last page

**Author's Note:**

  * For [trace_de_pas](https://archiveofourown.org/users/trace_de_pas/gifts).



When the call comes, it's not a surprise, but it _is_ a shock. Chiarelli says the words _trade_ and _thank you for everything you’ve done for the organization_ and _we wish you nothing but the best_. Jordan says all the right things about being grateful for the opportunity and thankful for everything the team did for him over the years and that’s it. One five-minute phone call—less even—and his entire world has been upended. 

And then Garth Snow phones and it’s all _welcome to the organization_ and _we look forward to seeing you in Brooklyn_ and _we’re going to do great things together_. Jordan tries to sound optimistic about it because he needs to be. Next season, he’s going to be wearing blue and orange in New York instead of in Edmonton, and he needs to get his mind around that or he’s going to make himself miserable like… or he’s going to make himself miserable. 

When the news breaks, he gets absolutely deluged in texts from everyone with whom he’s ever been on a team. He turns off his phone, and looks around his living room and thinks _I’m gonna have to pack all this shit up and move it all to Brooklyn_. And that’s about when he decides that this is definitely an excuse to get shitfaced if there ever was one.

~

The next morning, Jordan wakes up with a headache and the sun in his eyes because he failed to close his curtains when he finally crawled into bed last night.

It takes him a couple minutes to find his phone from where he tossed it after his sixth beer. When he switches it back on, it starts vibrating frenetically. It takes Jordan a couple of tries to punch in his passcode, which is not his finest moment, but thankfully he gets in.

He’s got texts from the entire team, even some of the call-ups with whom he only played a few games. Those are easy to answer. He wishes them luck and tells them to have good camps in the fall. He’s also got texts from the core guys, and those are harder. Klef just sent him a bunch of sad emojis. Talbo sent him some advice about New York from his time on the Rangers, and Jordan accepts it gratefully. He saves the messages from Davo and Nuge for last. Davo because he takes his captainly responsibilities seriously, and Jordan’s not ready for that. Nuge because… well, it’s been him and Nuge against the world for a long time. Or at least the Edmonton media. (Well, him and Nuge and Hallsy against the world, but Hallsy is something entirely different. Something Jordan still doesn’t know how to deal with.)

 _gunna miss u_ is all Nuge sent, but Jordan can feel the wealth of emotion behind it. The history of trying and failing and trying and failing and trying and failing to drag their team out of the basement, only to be traded when they’d finally fucking managed it.

 _gunna miss u 2_ he sends back because he can’t think of anything else to say. Because as much as he’s going to miss Nuge—and after six years of playing with each other, they know each other pretty damn well—he’s going to miss the possibilities more. 

He turns his phone back off after that because he’s not really ready to deal the reality of being traded, and he’s pretty sure that the guy who gets traded in the offseason gets at least one day to mope around in his underwear before he has face the music.

Besides, there’s nothing from the one guy he really wants to hear from. Not that he was expecting anything.

Jordan’s pretty sure that he doesn’t get to expect anything after the way everything went down last summer after Hallsy’s trade.

It would have been nice though.

~

When Jordan first gets the text from Nuge he has to read it twice just to be sure he’s reading it correctly. And when he asks Nuge if this is some godawful joke, Nuge just sends him links to the story on TSN and Sportsnet and a couple of other websites. Twitter is already full of fans decrying the whole thing, fans who think it’s a joke, and fans who are all too willing to use it as an excuse to vent their spleen behind a fake name and picture.

The whole thing makes Jordan sick.

Like actually nauseous. He’s pretty sure he’s going throw up.

And then Hallsy doesn’t call. Doesn’t text. Doesn’t answer Jordan’s calls or texts. 

After five days of complete silence, Jordan bites the proverbial bullet and buys a ticket to Pearson. He gets an Uber out to Hallsy’s parents’ place and ends up standing on their porch like a fucking moron because he didn’t think to tell anyone that he was coming. 

When Hallsy finally answers the door—and Jordan practically has to lean against the doorbell—he looks pretty rough.

“Hey,” Jordan says.

“What do you want?” Hallsy demands. 

“I wanted to see how you were, and you weren’t answering my texts or calls.”

“How I am?” Hallsy demands, voice bordering on hysterical. “I’m pretty fucking shitty, Ebby. I just got traded from the team I would have given everything for with no warning. No explanation, no warning. And everyone I’ve ever met in my entire life asking me if I’m all right. No, I’m not all right. I’m pissed off, and I don’t know what’s gonna happen next.”

“We can figure it all out, Hallsy,” Jordan says. “You don’t have to do this on your own, man.”

Taylor laughs then, an ugly, wrenching sound. “Yeah? Just like you’re gonna be in Jersey with me in September, Ebby? There is no _us_.” Hallsy pauses for a second. “Maybe there never was. Maybe I just wanted there to be an us so bad that I let myself believe it.”

“Hallsy…” Jordan starts.

“No, Ebby,” Taylor interrupts. “Just don’t. Don’t say anything. This is the way it has to be. Quick and clean.”

“And what? You just get to decide that for both of us?” Jordan demands.

“Yeah,” Taylor says. “I do. Go home, Ebby. Go home, and let me go.”

“I love you, Taylor,” Jordan says, trying to make Hallsy see how serious this is, how serious _he_ is. 

“Yeah, well I don’t love you, Ebs,” Hallsy returns, and his voice is so, so cold. And then he turns and lets the door slam in Jordan’s face. It’s only then that Jordan realizes that he and Taylor basically broke up on Taylor’s parents’ porch in front of the world. 

After a minute—when it becomes clear Taylor’s not going to open the door and say something stupid like ‘syke!’—Jordan turns around and stumbles back down the stairs. It takes forever for the Uber to get there, and it costs a small fortune to change his return ticket, but he’s got the money.

Right now, it’s about all he’s got.

~

In the end, Jordan hires people to pack up his shit. He phones Johnny T and gets the name of a realtor who should be able to help him find a place. (And hears more about how great the Isles are than he’s really ready for, but he can’t fault Tavares for being a good captain.) And then he drags his feet for another couple of days before he books a flight to JFK. He meets with his new realtor and looks at tiny apartments that cost more than his house back in Edmonton. The realtor talks about the commute to Brooklyn and subway lines. Jordan pretends he’s paying attention, tries to imagine himself living in any of these places, and can’t.

In the end, he chooses one with big windows that look out on the New York skyline. He signs a lease on it—for more than he ever thought he’d ever spend on a place—and gets back on a plane for Calgary in the same day.

He’s got half a dozen texts by the time he lands, mostly from his old teammates. Nuge wants to know where the fuck he is. Davo wants to get a drink before he heads to Brooklyn for camp, Caggs and Benny have texted him good luck, and he’s got at least three texts from Talbo that seem to be the name of restaurants. 

He thanks Caggs and Benny and wishes them good sophomore seasons and sends a bunch of thumbs up emojis back to Talbo. He’s not exactly sure what to do about either Nuge or Davo, really, so he says nothing.

He’s aware of the irony of the whole thing, but he’s still too raw to care. 

He shouldn’t be so surprised when Nuge shows up at his place a couple of days later.

“You might as well come in,” he says because unlike _some people_ , he’s not going to let this go down in the driveway.

“You want a beer?” he asks as Nuge closes the door behind himself.

“Sure,” Nuge says just like Jordan knew he would. He takes his time getting them from the fridge and taking the caps off them before heading back to the living room. Nuge is sitting on the couch, watching _Sportscentre_. 

“Turn that shit off,” Jordan grumbles because, sure, it’s showing Jays highlights right now, but it’ll be back to NHL trades soon enough, and Jordan doesn’t want to hear it. Not yet. 

Nuge obligingly pushes the power button on the remote, and the screen fades out. 

“It’s not the end of the world, Ebs,” Nuge says into the silence.

“I know that,” Jordan grumbles, taking a long pull from his beer. “I never said it was.” Truth be told, now that he’s had some time to get used to the idea, he’s sort of glad. Not to be leaving Nuge or Davo or the rest of the guys, but he’s definitely not sad to be leaving the Oilers media behind. Or the memory of him and Hallsy, young and dumb and ready to take on the world. 

New York is going to be a fresh start, and he tells Nuge as much.

“I’m glad you’re taking this so well,” Nuge tells him after they’ve both finished their beers.

Jordan shrugs at that because he kind of wants to say something mean about Taylor, but he also swore to himself not to put Ryan in the middle of their drama. “Can’t change it, can I?” he asks instead. “I got a place a couple of days ago,” he adds, hoping to distract Nuge. “It’s got a great view of New York. You’ll have to come and see it when we play.”

Nuge promises to do so, and then they drink a few more beers and Nuge makes himself comfortable in Jordan’s spare room. 

~

The rest of the summer passes far more quickly than Jordan would have ever thought possible. He hangs out with his family and talks a little with his new teammates, trying to get a feel for the team. John Tavares remains a truly stellar human being who offers to show him around New York when he gets in. Jordan takes him up on it because all he’s ever seen of New York are the tourist places, MSG, and the Barclay’s Centre, and it seems like a good teammate bonding activity. 

Nuge texts him at least once a week, keeping him up-to-date on all the latest gossip. Most of it’s about Davo because Davo is a gossip-creating machine even when he tries not to be. Apparently, he and Drai have been hooking up since the playoffs, and they both think the other one just wants something casual. Nuge seems to think it’s fucking hilarious, but Jordan remembers that Nuge used to think that he and Taylor were fucking hilarious too. Jordan tries to send Davo some advice about that, but he fails pretty spectacularly if the _whatever, dad_ text he gets back is any indication.

The first night he spends in his new place in New York still fucking sucks though. He’s got a bed, a couch, and a TV in his apartment and very little else because his mom insisted that he’d want to make it a home when he got there. There’s not even any food in the damn fridge, and Jordan has no idea where the nearest grocery store is. He probably should have looked that shit up on Google or asked the realtor or something. Still, a man’s gotta eat, so he grabs his shoes and keys, leaves his place, and wanders around until he finds a grocery store. The plus side of the entire thing is that apparently grocery stores in New York City also sell beer, which is fucking incredible. One stop shopping.

He texts Nuge about it on the way back to his place—he gets lost once and has to backtrack—and gets back a bunch of angry emojis in response. 

By the time he gets back to his place, it’s really too late to start making dinner, but Jordan does it anyway. And then he takes his mac and cheese, not Kraft Dinner because he couldn’t find actual Kraft Dinner, back to the couch with a beer and tries to find something on TV. 

He’s not used to any of the channels yet, so he ends up pulling Netflix up on his iPad and starts watching _Daredevil_. He and Hallsy were supposed to watch it together, originally, but then the trade happened. And then the break-up happened, and then Jordan never really felt like watching it.

It’s actually pretty good, and Jordan’s enjoying it.

He’s three beers and like four and a half episodes of _Daredevil_ in when someone knocks on his door. At first, Jordan thinks it’s one of his neighbours stopping by to introduce themselves, but when he looks at the time, he realizes it’s quarter to one in the morning. So it’s probably not one of his neighbours, but it might be a delivery driver with the wrong apartment or something. 

Against his better judgment (maybe it’s the beers he’s had talking) he gets up and heads to the door. He pulls it open, ready to tell off whoever’s on the other side only to stand there with his mouth open, looking like a total moron.

“Can I come in?” Hallsy asks when Jordan doesn’t immediately move out of the way.

“What the fuck are you doing here?” Jordan demands instead because of all the people he expected to see on the other side of the door, Hallsy is just about the last one.

Hallsy bites his lip like he’s thinking but doesn’t say anything, just stands there, shifting from foot to foot.

“Fine,” Jordan grumbles, heading back to his couch. “Come in if you want.”

“Thanks,” Hallsy mumbles. Jordan is a little surprised how uncertain Taylor sounds. Taylor never used to sound uncertain. Even when he was bullshitting, he _always_ sounded so certain about it.

“So?” Jordan asks, flopping back down on his sofa. He wants to demand to know why Hallsy’s here now, of all times, but he forces the words back.

“Nuge gave me your new address,” Hallsy says, and Jordan makes a mental note to never tell Nuge anything ever again, the traitor. 

“Okay,” Jordan drawls when it doesn’t look like Hallsy’s going to say anything else. “You found it. Great job, bud. If that’s all, you can go now.”

For whatever reason, Hallsy relaxes at that. “God, Ebby, you’re such an asshole,” he says. And then, apropos of nothing, “I missed you, man.”

Jordan honestly doesn’t know what the hell to say to that. “Missed you too, bud,” he finally settles on, picking up his half-finished beer. He practically bites his tongue to keep from pointing out that Hallsy’s the one to blame for that, but his mother always taught him to be polite to guests, even uninvited ones.

After a minute, Hallsy gets up and helps himself to a beer from Jordan’s fridge. At this point, Jordan isn’t even surprised. He lets Hallsy open his beer and sit down before demanding once again, “Why are you even here, Tay?”

Hallsy’s quiet for long enough Jordan’s starting to think he fell asleep. He’s about to get up and shake Hallsy awake and send him back to Jersey when Taylor finally speaks. “I don’t really know,” Hallsy says. “As soon as I got to Jersey, Henny told me I was a fucking idiot, but it was too late. I thought you hated me. I hated me.” Here Hallsy pauses. “Well, I hated everything, really. I was so pissed off and hurt about the trade that I let it fuck everything up.”

Jordan grabs his beer, which is warm and gross by now, and takes a deep drink because his mouth has gone dry. 

Hallsy continues on, completely oblivious to Jordan’s internal turmoil. “It took a long time for the trade to stop being the worst thing that ever happened to me. And then I realized that the worst thing that’d ever happened to me was because I was a fucking moron, and I pushed you away.”

Jordan doesn’t know what to say in response to that. He pinches himself, sure that he’s fallen asleep and is dreaming.

But pinching himself fucking hurts and Hallsy is still sitting there, staring at him expectantly.

“Okay,” Jordan drawls. “I’m gonna go to bed now,” he tells Hallsy. “Do… whatever.”

It’s probably not what Hallsy wants to hear, but it’s really all Jordan’s capable of right now. He stumbles off to his bed and faceplants right in the middle. He falls asleep almost immediately and doesn’t even bother taking his sweats off first.

~

When Jordan wakes up the next morning, it’s to sunshine and the smell of fresh coffee. Which, Jordan’s pretty sure he doesn’t even have a coffee maker yet. 

He stumbles into his kitchen, only to find Hallsy sitting at his table with a couple of cups of coffee and a bag of what looks like breakfast sandwiches. “Hallsy?” he questions. “What are you doing here?”

Hallsy shrugs. “You said to do whatever, so I figured whatever, right?” he says, motioning to the food. 

Jordan doesn’t know what to say to that, but he firmly believes that you should never turn down a free meal, so he sits down at his kitchen table in his boxer-briefs (having kicked his sweats off some time in the night and not bothered to dig them out of sheets before coming to investigate the coffee smell) and drinks his coffee and eats his breakfast sandwich.

“Tim’s is better,” he grumbles.

Hallsy laughs at that. “Yeah,” he agrees. “But you get used to it.” He’s silent until Jordan finishes his coffee before adding, “You didn’t say anything last night.”

Jordan shrugs. “I didn’t know what to say,” he admits. “I still kind of don’t.”

Hallsy bites his lip at that. “Fair enough,” he mumbles. “I’ll get out of your hair.”

And Jordan doesn’t know exactly what he wants. They’re not kids in Edmonton anymore. Some things have changed, some things _have_ to change, but that doesn’t mean Jordan wants everything to change.

“No,” Jordan says before he can overthink it. “You should stay for a while, Hallsy.”

“Yeah?” Hallsy asks.

“Yeah,” Jordan agrees. He pauses for a minute and tries to get his thoughts in order. “I can’t promise you anything,” he starts, ignoring the hopeful look dawning on Hallsy’s face. “But I still want to try again.”

Hallsy grins at him. Jordan can’t stop himself from grinning back. He has no fucking clue how this is going to work, if it’s even going to work, but well, he wants to try. 

Jordan doesn’t really believe in fate or luck or any of that shit. He’s always thought you made your own luck, but maybe all the shit they went through in Edmonton and all the shit they went through when Hallsy got traded was so that they would be ready now. His own trade to New York, which seemed like the end of the world to start with, may actually be his saving grace, so to speak. 

“Yeah, Hallsy,” Jordan repeats. “I think I want to try.”

fin.

**Author's Note:**

> 1\. I hope that you enjoyed this fic, even though it's a lot shorter than I wanted it be, and not nearly as angsty as my initial thought process had it. I just couldn't do break-up fic for the holidays. I'm not wired that way.  
> 2\. The title is from the Taylor Swift song titled "New Year's Day" off _Reputation_ because I am that kind of human being, and I make no apologies for it.


End file.
